H2 Whoa
by Rhanon Brodie
Summary: Hot n' dirty, just like Daryl. PWP, Daryl/OFC. Oneshot. Raunchy as all get out. You've been warned.


_A/N: I couldn't stay away from this fandom. I actually started writing this in the spring and just found it on my laptop the other day. Decided to finish it and it got a little…ahem…out of control. There are a lot of Daryl-centric fics where writers are like 'oh, well I based my Daryl on Norman Reedus' comments on the character…Daryl being a virgin, not sexually but emotionally…' and a lot of the time, when Daryl does get down and dirty in these fics, he's thinking 'oh, this girl ain't like the ones I used to take rough and fast in the bed of my truck or against the wall outside the honky-tonk.'_

_I said 'fuck that.' It's the end of the world, baby, and if there was ever a time to get your rocks off, it's now. Scars and battered pasts and sublevels of self esteem aside, here is Daryl in all of his Dixon glory, giving it all he's got in that dirty, gruff, redneck way of his. __**PURE PWP**__. This is raunchy, folks, and not sweet or flowery or redeeming in any way. You've been warned._

* * *

He heard the shot ring out and then, through the hole blown through the walker's head, he saw her – a tall, leggy, brunette, lowering the hand that held the .45. He swallowed thickly, his crossbow still raised at his shoulder, his finger still resting on the trigger, but his attention snared by the woman with the gun.

A matching pistol sat in the other holster on her hip and a gleaming row of bullets studded the belt, making her look like she'd swiped the sidearms from some reject of a wild west movie. Shit, even her cowboy boots would look out of place on anyone else, but she managed to carry off the black leather and studded toe caps without a hitch. He was actually surprised – and a little disappointed – that she wasn't wearing spurs.

But she _was_ wearing cut off denim shorts, and boy, were they short. The sight of her legs made him feel a little tingly in the thighs and between his hips and he fought the urge to shift. The walker dropped to the ground like a bag of smashed assholes, leaving no barrier between him and his Annie Oakley.

She eyed the redneck steadily, drawing her sharp golden gaze up and then down his body, narrowing when she noticed that he hadn't dropped his crossbow. But it was the crossbow that told her that he wasn't a walker; he was certainly grungy enough to be one. His sharp blue eyes, however, cut her to the bone and made her shiver in the scorching Georgia heat. It was kind of a nice feeling.

Then he opened his mouth.

"Jesus Christ, woman, y'all nearly blew my head off! Th' fuck you doing wavin' that big gun around like you know how to use it?"

She smirked and then spun the gun expertly, landing it in the holster on her leg before lifting her now empty hand and flipping him a rather elegant middle finger. "Trust me – if I was aiming for you, you'd be on the ground with that walker." He snorted and shook his head, but she cut him off before he could speak. "I just saved your ass, boy."

The was she said 'boy' made his hackles rise and his chest puffed up as he dropped the crossbow and sauntered towards her. When she crossed her arms over her chest, it created quite possibly the most magnificent cleavage he'd ever seen. The twin tanned topography of her breasts gleamed under the sun, nestled beneath the worn red tank top that hugged her upper body.

"Who you callin' _boy_?" he managed to ask. Although it did sound a lot more threatening in his mind. His voice was suspiciously seductive sounding, and he frowned harder, stopping about three feet from her.

_He's got a point_, her mind drawled huskily. Jesus, he was built big and mean – especially through the shoulders and the long muscles of his arms. Briefly, she wondered if the sleeves were torn out of his chambray shirt _just_ because it was hot. He narrowed to a swimmer's waist, tapered and swaggering hips making his bloodstained jeans ride over his thick thighs as he moved. His heavy boots crunched over the gravel on the road's shoulder and stopped shy of toeing the walker's oozing skull. He studied the mass of hair, bone, teeth, and bloody brains for a moment before gazing back up to her face. "Hell of a shot," he muttered, his blue eyes glancing back down her body once more.

Her arms hadn't dropped, and this close to her, he could see the damp pieces of her hair clinging to the sweat soaking the arch of her neck. Her lips were red and she licked them quickly, causing a shot of something wonderfully hot to pulse through him. A vein in her neck drummed with her pulse and he swept his eyes down over her breasts and along the toned, golden arms folded there. Then he took stock of the swell of her hips, the vee in her jeans between the thighs, and then those long, lovely legs.

"Eyes up here, Cletus," she snapped.

"Daryl," he growled, ignoring the dig at his Redneck status.

"Whatever," she sighed, turning away from the walker and this 'Daryl'.

_Do something, Dixon_, his brain muttered. _She's gettin' away_. "Hey!" He suddenly shouted. "Hey, girl!"

"Who you callin' _girl_?" She had his accent down perfectly and her mockery of him actually made him smile. At least she wasn't scowling. Well, maybe a little bit, but she was smiling too, and it made him feel kinda funny _down there_. "It's Crystal," she shot back. She fixed him with an expectant glare.

He bristled, hesitating under her stare. "I own you one," Daryl blurted out.

Crystal quirked a dark eyebrow. "What did you have in mind?" she asked smoothly.

"Uh…" Daryl shrugged and then plucked a squirrel off of his string. "Squirrel?"

She made a face. "Um, no, I'm good in that respect, thanks."

Daryl shrugged again. "Suit yerself. I can show you where to find some fresh water." He nodded up the road. "Big ol' water truck up a ways. Not empty – not yet, anyway." It would have been, had his group been able to carry more. And, had his group not included Dale, who insisted that some be left behind for someone else in need. That little speech had made Daryl snort and roll his eyes, but now he was actually glad for Dale's compassion.

Now, she was all for slaking her thirst, but she hadn't been thinking in the literal sense. She figured that Daryl would be good for a fuck – a very nice, very hard fuck – not to show her where to find clean water. She quickly scanned his hands for a wedding ring. When she came up empty, she peered at him for a moment. Queer? Not likely, not this far south, and not with a crossbow. He was way too…well, way too _Daryl_ to be queer. Crystal sighed and shrugged. "Yeah. Sounds good."

Well, she didn't _sound_ like 'sounds good', but Daryl would take it. She was looking a little too closely at him for his comfort and he cleared his throat before stepping over the walker and moving to her side. "This way," he mumbled, feeling her gaze peeling his clothes off. It was a strange sensation. He didn't _not_ like it. But he wasn't used to it.

He tossed her a new bottle of water and watched as she opened it and tipped her head back before pouring the contents directly over her face. Water rained down, soaking her hair, sliding over her cheeks and nose, into her mouth, and down her chin and throat to soak her tank top. A few seconds later she brought the lip of the bottle to her mouth and drank deeply. When the water was gone, she took a few deep breaths and nodded.

"Thanks," she husked, wiping the excess water from her face.

Daryl scratched the back of his head, tearing his eyes away from the turgid peaks of her nipples as they poked against her shirt. "Welcome," he mumbled, pulling another two bottles from the truck and handing her one. He opened the other for himself and took a few healthy gulps.

Crystal focused on the smooth motion of his Adam's apple as it rolled up and down his throat with each swallow. When he pulled the bottle from his lips, she watched a stray drop roll down his chin and his throat, disappearing under the worn collar of his shirt. She looked back to the truck, at the huge amount of water still available, and developed a plan. Her hands went to the buckle of her holster, pulling it open. She hung her guns on the door latch of the truck and then toed off her boots before starting on the button of her shorts.

"What are ya doin'?" Daryl choked, catching a glimpse of white cotton panties before turning abruptly in the other direction.

Crystal giggled at his reaction but continued stripping off. "I'm hot. I'm dirty. And I'm not letting this amount of water or another pair of eyes go to waste. It's almost impossible to get decently clean out here when you're keeping an eye out for walkers. Stand guard, will ya?"

Daryl's shoulders bunched as she yammered on and when she told him her idea of using him for a guard dog, he craned his neck back over his shoulder to scowl at her. "Now wait a goddamn minute, girl, I ain't your bloody watch…" his tirade died on his lips as his eyes swept over the now very naked form of Crystal hanging her shorts and shirt up on the metal racking that had previously held the five gallon bottles that his group had carted off in the RV.

"Christ on the cross," he muttered. He didn't know where to look first – or next – or whether he should look away all together. The sun caught on the jewel in her navel and danced, blinding him momentarily.

"You all right there, big guy?" she murmured. Her eyelashes fluttered.

He sucked in a breath and quickly looked back up to her snapping hazel gaze. "M'fine," he growled, turning his back to her again.

Crystal smirked and it only grew bigger as she spied the lethal blade hitched on Daryl's hip. She snagged it, causing him to turn around again, but she paid him little attention and instead drove the knife into one of the uppermost five gallon jugs in the truck. One twist of the wrist later and cool, clean water spurted out. She couldn't help the delighted and surprised yelp that left her lips.

Daryl steeled himself. The startled scream of obvious pleasure shot straight to his groin and he felt his palms start to sweat. Jesus, here he was with the world crumbling down around him and he was standing watch for a hot brunette getting naked and wet less than three feet away. He should do something. Hell, he should do _anything_ but continue to stand, staring down the long stretch of burning highway while this Crystal splashed away dirt and grime. He dared another quick glance over his shoulder and was presented with the sweetest ass this side of the Mississippi.

"Aw, hell," he muttered under his breath. She'd twisted her hair up haphazardly, leaving her neck and shoulders bare. Water sluiced down the long planes of her back and over her rounded buttocks to slide lazily down her thighs and land in puddle at her feet. His mouth began to salivate. He was thirsty…for water, yes, but as Daryl's blood rapidly rushed south of his belt, his fingers twitched with the urge to grab and take.

"Almost done," Crystal called out. She'd felt his eyes on her the moment she turned her back and she wondered how much longer it would take for him to revert to the more savage side he obviously possessed. It had been a while – before the world had gone to shit, she'd been busy, too busy to really take any time for herself. She hadn't crossed paths with someone that sparked her interest quite like this man had and she wasn't going to let an opportunity go to waste.

"Y'all want a turn?" she called out. She watched him shift in his boots and his shoulders twitched, but he didn't answer. He was a tough one, for certain.

Shit. He was hot. Gritty. Hadn't seen the inside of a shower in…well, in a while. He felt sweat trickle down his back and he was pretty sure he smelled like the ass end of a mule. Yes. _Hell_ yes, he wanted a turn. He turned and yanked the knife free of the bottle Crystal had emptied, watching as she pulled her white cotton panties up damp thighs and let her hair tumble down again. It barely covered her breasts. He couldn't look away. He didn't want to. His gaze narrowed, staring at her staring at him as he slipped the buttons of his shirt and peeled it back.

Her eyes lit up as he stripped quickly, and the sound of his belt opening and zipper falling made her toes curl against the hot, wet asphalt. More of his skin was exposed with every movement, and she counted the tattoos and scars that marked his body. Muscles flexed as he hooked his fingers into his boxers and yanked them down. With a flourish he reached up and stabbed his knife into a second bottle of water, his eyes never leaving hers.

He watched as her eyes began to wander, over his shoulders, down his arms and across his chest. That burning hazel gaze ignited fire wherever it landed – his abs, hips, thighs, and then finally his steadily rising erection. He willed himself to stand still under her perusal as water sprayed down over his body, washing away weeks of grime and walker guts.

"You done starin' yet?" Daryl drawled with half a grin. He nodded his chin past Crystal to the pair of walkers that approached. He wasn't worried – with the way she'd dropped the initial one, she clearly had no problems with aim. And hell, if she froze up, his crossbow was within reach.

Crystal turned and assessed the situation. Only two, but that many gunshots could alert more. She reached to the bottle above Daryl's head and yanked the knife free, causing a torrent of water to spray down over Daryl. She spun and in two moves stabbed first one and then the other clean through the head, a rain of blood splattering her previously clean skin. The walkers dropped without a fight and she turned back to Daryl, wielding the gore covered knife.

He sputtered and wiped water from his eyes. The sight of her covered in blood and brains and brandishing his knife made his grin widen. "Guess I owe you two."

Crystal spun his knife and set it delicately on the edge of the truck and brushed her hair back behind her shoulders. "You can wash my back. Maybe my front, too." Her thumbs hooked into her panties and she stepped out of them, flinging them to land on her boots. Boldly stepping forward, she crowded Daryl's space under the water and blinked up at him.

His breath caught as her nipples scraped against his chest. His body froze, his eyes unable to move from the taut, dusty pink peaks. Water poured down over him, but his mouth ran dry as his fingers curled into his fists.

She could feel his pulse through the boisterous erection that bumped her hip. His stomach muscles quivered with each breath he managed to take. His reaction to her thus far was very…confusing. It was obvious he was interested but he wasn't doing anything to further the situation. She looked into his eyes and noted the apprehension there. Could he be…was it possible he had never…the very thought of breaking him in made her throb in all the right places and her hands reached for his shoulders.

Her hands were hot, softly landing on his shoulders and his bottom lip was snared by his teeth as he fought the helpless whimper that rose from his throat. She wasn't some drunk slut he'd run into at Schank's and he wasn't full of whiskey and false confidence. "Wh – what are doin?" he finally choked out.

"Relax," Crystal purred with a wink. Her hands slid from his shoulders and down the hard planes of his chest, her fingers carding through the dark hair there. Gooseflesh rose in the wake of her nails but with a deft twist of his hips, he moved before she could curl her fingers around his length. She frowned and peered into his eyes.

"What are _you_ doin?" She asked lowly. She reached for him again and he actually turned from her.

"Killin' walkers get you hot or somethin'?" Daryl glared at her, his skin still tight and hot.

"Wet, naked women _not_ get you hot?"

Daryl scowled at her. "You sayin' I'm queer?"

Crystal smirked and shrugged one shoulder, flinging her hair back. "If the shoe fits," she muttered.

His shoulders rippled with aggravation and he closed the distance between him and the girl, clutching her shoulders and pushing her up against the cool metal siding of the truck. "Ya'll wanna see what fit and what don't?" he growled lowly.

She grinned wildly and nodded. "Yes, I do."

* * *

She walked back to her camp bull-legged.

In hindsight, it had been rather stupid to bait a bear like Daryl into showing her how much of a man he really was. Fucker had tossed her up against the siding and shoved his dick right inside, his thumb grinding against her clit without an ounce of finesse. She'd sucked a sharp breath in and clawed his shoulders, but it only served to make him grin nastily and clutch a fistful of hair as he drove into her.

"Ya want me ta stop?" he breathed, ramming his hips against hers.

She choked on a moan and shook her head, despite the burning pinch his initial intrusion had caused. All it took was a few long, deep strokes and she was wetter than the pavement under his boots, and she took him all the way in, so far that she feared he might come clean out the back of her. Her hands clutched the back of his neck and she arched her breasts against him, rolling her hips with his.

She hissed, narrowing her eyes at him. "Fuck that pussy, _hoss_," she sneered, delighted in the way the term made his nostrils flare.

"Bitch don't know when ta shut up," he grunted. He hooked her knees with his elbows and pushed her legs further back, opening her up completely to him. "Fuck," he grunted, sinking deep. "Got a tight pussy, dontcha?"

Her keening wail was her only response, because really, was she going to deny it? The fact that he was hung like a mule was most definitely a contributing factor; she was pretty certain that she hadn't been fucked quite like this before. She didn't like guys who called women bitches, especially in the bedroom, but it was the end of the world and beggars couldn't be choosers.

"Oh, that make ya be quiet?" he muttered against her ear. "My dick in ya?" He shoved into her again, groaning at the way her muscles clamped down wetly. "Don't stop now," he prodded. His teeth snagged her ear and bit sharply, causing her to scream. "Ugh," he grunted.

"Fu-u-u-u-u-uuuuck!" her cry rose in intensity and came out choppy as he hammered away at her. By now, the water truck was rocking on its shocks and she could hear the water sloshing around the bottles while skin slapped roughly against skin. When she bucked her hips towards him, he grabbed them and hitched her higher before wrenching her back down onto his impossibly turgid length.

Her nails bit into his forearms, and the sting of it was enough to back him down from the impending meltdown. His lower back gave a small twinge at the angle and the weight of her – come on, no man could just fuck and fuck and fuck someone against a wall and not feel some discomfort. He dropped her legs and pulled out without ceremony, and chuckled at her infuriated glare.

"Fuckin' fucker, what the hell d'ya think yer doin'…"

"Oh, quit yer bitchin'," Daryl growled. "C'mere." He hauled her off of the side of the truck and spun her, bending her at the waist and planting her hands on the cargo deck of the truck where one gate was open. "Now, hold still," he muttered, lifting her hips and whistling at the way her ass felt in his hands. "Shit, girl, if I had more time, might fuck ya there," he growled, rubbing his thumb briefly against the tighter entrance. "But I got squirrels ta kill," he amended, reaching down and jamming his cock into her pussy.

"Oh my lord," she muttered, slamming her forehead against the deck. It was official, she was no longer wondering if anyone else had fucked her like this. She felt raw and bruised but she took him again, gasping sharply every time he bottomed out. Her toes were barely scraping the ground he was riding so hard. Her body was aching, the abuse sweet and torturous, but she was well past her due orgasm. Her fingers slid between her thighs and she rubbed circles against her numb clit, sobbing as she climbed higher and higher.

"Shit," Daryl hissed behind her. "Shit, _fuck_, yer gonna make me blow," he huffed. "Reckon I'm gonna toss right on yer pretty little ass," he hinted. Below him, she moaned and her head nodded frantically. "Ya'll like playin' rough n' dirty, dontchya?"

She moaned, "Yes," and bore down on his length.

He pulled out abruptly and howled like a coyote with a bum leg, jerking his fist along his length. With a final grunt, he came, spurting onto her ass right where he said he would. His free hand shot out to the side of the truck, slamming into the metal and holding him up as he gasped for breath and watched as his spunk dribbled onto the tanned planes of Crystal's backside.

He blew out a breath and watched as Crystal spun around under him and stood, albeit on shaky legs. Good lord, she was _furious_, wound tighter than barbed wire round' a rabid 'coon. "Got somethin' ta say, sweetheart?" he leered, reaching for where his jeans hung.

"Fuck you," she huffed, leaning back and groaning. She had been close. Really, _really_ close, and now all she had was a churning ache between her hips and thighs. She snagged his shirt out of his hands.

"The fuck?" he growled, moving to take it back.

"I'm not walkin' back across the blisterin' asphalt with yer spunk sticking to my ass." She reached around and wiped the fluid clear with the bottom corner of his shirt. "Sides, ya left me high and dry," she shrugged, flinging his shirt back into his face. "Least you can do is let me get cleaned up."

"Oh, don't act like y'all weren't havin' fun," he snapped, holding up his shirt and inspecting it. He shrugged and slid it on. He pulled his jeans up and fastened the button, leaving the belt unhooked as he moved between her bare legs. "Sides, wouldn't say that's dry, would you?" His hand slid between her thighs and his fingers probed her swollen, battered flesh.

She sucked in a breath and moved her hand to his wrist, trying to shove his hand away. "Shit," she groaned. Her legs tried to tighten around his hand, but they were jelly after their previous exertions. Tears came to her eyes as he sank two fingers in and jerked her roughly on the inside.

"Don't scream," he muttered, fingering her hard and furious. "Bring walkers down on us." Merle had always said there was no use to getting a woman off, but Daryl knew better. Nothing quite like watching a soft, curvy woman come apart underneath you. When she did come, it was hard and wet, and Daryl withdrew his hand. Smirking, swiped his tongue over the fingers he'd just used on her and he hummed at her taste. "World may be coming to an end," he drawled, "but that don't mean a man don't do right by a woman. Yer sweet, girl." He grinned and slapped her ass hard. "Makes me forget about lack of sugar in my coffee."

"You're just a dream come true," she sighed raggedly. "Walkin' around with that anaconda swinging between your thighs. Lotta lonely ladies out here, Daryl. Could make a nice little business."

He rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb and cocked an eyebrow at her. "Shit, girl, where were ya b'fore the world went t'hell?"

Crystal moved, grabbing her clothes and redressing with practiced speed. "Oklahoma," she shot back. "Y'know," she started as she buckled her twin holsters back into place. "Don't think I've ever enjoyed gettin' dirty or clean and then dirty all over again. Thanks for the drink, _hoss_." She winked, turned, and then walked away.

"Shit," Daryl muttered amusedly. He watched her go until she shimmered up in the heat waves that lingered on the hot stretch of Georgia highway.


End file.
